


i've been so good, why am i feelin' empty

by CKGrillie



Category: Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Depressed Peter Parker, Gen, Loneliness, Lonely Peter Parker, Peter Needs a Hug, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, References to Depression, Sad, Sad Peter Parker, Tony Has Issues, idk where this is going yet, might have to add in more specific tags when this has a direction, we'll see
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-11
Updated: 2019-10-11
Packaged: 2020-04-24 14:23:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19175119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CKGrillie/pseuds/CKGrillie
Summary: Why is he doing this again? What is he fighting for? There used to be something. What is it?





	1. i'm doing fine

**Author's Note:**

> not sure where this is going but im in a bad mood. thus, peter's in a bad mood. u kno how it is *shrug*
> 
> hope u like it!

Peter walks, head down, hood up, to his locker. His earbuds are turned up all the way past normal levels of comfort, but at this moment, he doesn’t particularly care. It’s Monday, and Peter is fucking exhausted. 

 

All weekend, he had spent hours upon hours on the streets. Robbers, thieves, and general wrongdoers became his only points of focus, before he had to go home and pretend to sleep for when May checked on him. He wasn’t sleeping.

 

For the past few months, he’s been feeling it. Seeping in, despite his attempts to block it out, despite his attempts to forget about, despite his attempts to just  _ Be Fine _ . The melancholy blanket continues to smother him and he is powerless to stop it. Muffling his feelings and thoughts and emotions until he just feels he  _ can’t _ . Why is he doing this again? What is he fighting for? There used to be something. What is it? 

 

He stops more thieves. Helps more people. Why? 

 

Someone bumps into him on his way to Math, and he nearly loses it before he remembers himself.  _ Not at school _ , he reminds himself,  _ not at school _ .

 

It’s pointless anyways, this whole hero charade he’s tricked himself into believing. There will always be more villains. There will always be more deaths, more injuries, more pain. It never stops.

 

It never stops.

 

That night, Peter stares at the ceiling, tears slipping down his cheeks and fists balled in the covers.  _ I’m doing fine. I’m doing fine. I’m doing fine _ . His chant repeats in his head, but it doesn’t change anything. He has to get up in an hour, it’s 5am and the clock just  _ keeps ticking _ . 

 

Where is Mr.Stark? 

 

Oh, he’s forgotten all about Peter. Young Peter. Immature Peter. Stupid Peter. Why does he care, that a billionaire has no time for some no-name kid in the middle of a run down street in run down apartment? Why does it hurt so much?

 

He shuts his eyes. His alarm goes off. Another day. 

* * *

That feeling doesn’t go away. Not when he’s forcing his face into a smile for May, not when he chokes down the sandwiches he always eats with the taste like ashes on his tongue, not when he asks to pet a stranger’s dog when hanging out with Ned. He’s fine, see? He’s doing what he always does. It’s fine.

 

The curtains in his room are always pulled shut. It’s dark in there, always. In the dark, in the quiet, he chews on his nails till they bleed and pulls his hair till it aches and pinches his arms till they bruise. He rocks back and forth, hits his head on the wall as hard as he can without alerting May, but, as always, it’s fine. They fade quickly because of his healing ability. He just wants to  _ feel  _ something again, if only for a little while.

 

Slowly, it becomes harder to laugh and harder to eat and harder to act silly. It’s so difficult. Peter just wants to sleep and when he sleeps he dreams and when he dreams he wakes up in a panic, fingers clawing at his chest and the smell of rubble and concrete in his nose. And other times when he sleeps he doesn’t sleep at all, just lies there with his eyes shut and hoping it’ll end.  _ Please, please let me feel something _ . And it doesn’t stop. 

 

And Tony still never checks in.

* * *

One weekend day, Peter has been lying on his bed, guilt screaming at him that people could be dying right now as he can’t get out of bed to go on patrol, he gets a text.

 

_ hey kid stop by later today and check out these new upgrades! -TS _ , it says. 

 

He takes a deep breath. He takes two deep breaths. He gets up. 

 

The bus ride isn’t very long, but to Peter it’s infinite. Everything is these days, but he’ll get there in the end, so it’s not a concern. His feet feel like they’re dipped in molasses, his insides frozen and heavy, but he walks on. The doors to the Avengers Tower let him in and in the elevator ride up he stares at the wall, thinking of nothing and feeling nothing. 

 

When the doors open, he walks down to the lab and still, there’s nothing. Where did the excitement go? Why had he been wishing for this for months, and now that he finally gets it, it means nothing?

 

And there he is. The man that doesn’t care, that hasn’t checked up on him, that hadn’t even bothered to see if he was alright after Toomes. Tony greets him with a smile and a flourish at the work he’s been doing.

 

“You like it, kid? I just got some inspiration out of nowhere, lemme tell you. Haven't thought about this junk in ages, but here we are, brand new upgrades!” A suit, almost identical to the one at home in Peter’s closet, lays on the table among scattered sheets of paperwork with blueprints and designs. Tony looks back at Peter, and doesn’t seem to notice his lack of smile and the fact that he hasn’t even spoken yet. He’s normally bursting at the seams from Tony’s mere existence alone by now.

 

“It’s great, Mr.Stark,” Peter forces out, and makes himself walk over to the suit and feign interest. He doesn’t really care, and would much rather be at home on his bed. 

 

At this, Mr.Stark does give him a strange look, and maybe that reply hadn’t quite passed as genuine. “You good, kid?” Tony stops whatever hologram depiction of the new upgrades he had been queuing up and tries to catch Peter’s eye. 

 

Peter looks at the ground, away from the man he honestly hardly knows, and before he can give an automatic mumble, pushes out whatever enthusiasm and admiration he has left for Tony. He says, voice almost cracking, “Yeah! I’m awesome! This is just so cool, Mr.Stark, it’s almost..like, overwhelming!” 

 

Whatever Tony had seen in his face earlier seems to have passed, and Tony turns back to his diagrams with a short quip about teenagers. Peter lets the sound of Mr.Stark’s voice wash over him but tunes out the actual meaning, nodding when he feels he’s supposed to. 

 

He had thought, maybe, being in Tony’s presence would help or something, but it’s done nothing. The fog closes in, and before he knows it, it’s time to go. The journey home passes in flashes and in an instant he’s home, in his dark room. Alone. 

* * *

 

As Tony had watched the kid go, he wondered, maybe there was something off with the kid’s demeanor. Or...nah. It’s probably nothing.


	2. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> and repeat

* * *

The days pass. School continues being school. Patrols continues being patrols. And Peter continues in his haze.

 

Go to school at 8 am.

Go home at 3:05 pm.

Be on patrol by 3:15 pm.

Get back inside for dinner with May at 6 pm.

Back out for patrol at 6:30 pm.

And 3 am, stumble back to the apartment, pretend that homework is going to be done, and fall into bed. 

 

3 am, laying on the covers, staring at the ceiling.

 

3 am, ignoring the cuts and bruises from the night, the sticky blood drying under his suit.

 

3 am,  _ exhausted _ but unable to sleep.

 

And repeat.

* * *

He starts staying out longer than 3 am, the blaring numbers that seem to yell at him from his alarm clock when he lays there in the dark becoming too much. Peter sits on the edges of various buildings around this time now, eyes closed, feeling the chill of the night sky on his face and the loud ever present bustle from the city below. He alternates between sitting as close to the ledge as he can without losing his balance, and laying out along the ridge with his legs crossed. It’s not like he could fall. It’s not like he’s in danger or anything. It’s just...nice.

 

He’s always at least 10 stories up. He’d die if he did fall.

 

But he won’t of course. 

 

From up here, with his enhanced eyesight, he can spot the activities of the many people below him. A woman with grocery bags, despite the time of night ( _ morning _ , his mind whispers,  _ you have to get up in two hours _ ). A man walking a yappy dog and smiling. A couple of young adults, smoking and mumbling at each other. Do they know? Do they know the danger that lurks around every corner, that they could die any day? Do they care? Can they feel it sinking in, the futility of life and the pointlessness of any action they can possibly make in their existences? 

 

Does it matter?

 

Peter supposes it doesn’t.

 

Where did his optimism go? Why is he thinking like this and why can’t he stop? He knows there is good in the world. He’s seen some of it. But the feeling persists. Nothing he does will really affect the world. He’s a speck in the infinite expanse of the universe. An ant in the face of mountains. People can lie to themselves all they want, and think about how they matter in the face of such enormous ideas, but the truth is that just like Peter, they don’t. In fact if they...if he….

 

No, Peter isn’t suicidal or whatever they’d call it. No, it’s just that...if...if he did die, would it affect anything? Sure, people would be sad for a short while, but they’d get over it. Maybe not for awhile, but they would. They’d have to. That’s how life works. 

 

He rubs a hand over his face and heads back home. He has to get ready for school in 15 minutes. 

* * *

Peter’s staring at his desk, ignoring the chatter of unruly students around him when the teacher sets a sheet of paper in front of him. 

 

“Good luck,” the teacher says with a cheery smile, and moves on to the next student. 

 

Fuck.

 

He’d totally forgotten. Today is  _ The Big Test _ for Math. A test Peter has not even glanced at the study guide for. Last night he’d been watching the change in the shadows on his wall as time passed, actually. 

 

Glancing over the sheet, he sees that he recognizes absolutely zero percent of the problems.  _ Oh  _ fuck, he thinks. This test will make or break his grade. 

 

He looks at the problems once more, but they don’t change. The fifty blank spaces stare at him mockingly, dancing on the page in the mess of numbers and letters. His throat begins to close up and he feels a pain in his chest. 

 

_ This is what I’ve come to. I can’t even do math anymore. What the hell is wrong with me? _

 

He gets up and without asking leaves the class for the bathroom. Now his eyes are welling up and  _ god _ , the numbness was bad enough, but this ache, this squirming awful incompetence and pain, is almost worse. The door slams shut behind him as he locks himself in a stall, his thoughts overwhelming him as his breath speeds up. 

 

_ Why is it like this? Why am I here? What is wrong, please, someone, tell me what’s wrong. What do I do? I’m so lost. _

 

_ Please. _

 

_ Mr. Stark, please.  _

 

_ Please help me. I’m not fine. _

 

_ I’m not fine. _

 

Tony hasn’t contacted him since their brief meeting a month ago. 


	3. 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a change

May takes him to see a psychologist the day after his breakdown at school. She swears it was a spur of the moment decision, that she just wants to help, but Peter knows there’s no way she could’ve had it all scheduled in such a short period of time. She had to have been planning it for ages now. 

 

_ She must know _ , Peter thinks,  _ that I’m losing it _ .  _ She sees that there’s something wrong with me. _

 

He doesn’t protest nearly as much as she seemed to expect him to. Her confused look of shock to his monotone “Fine, I’ll go,” is engrained in the front of his mind even as they get in the car.

 

As May drives, shooting occasional worried looks at him, Peter stares out the window and wonders how high of a building a person could survive falling off of. How high up an enhanced human would have to fall. Probably any of the skyscrapers around New York would do the trick, right?

 

He’s just curious though. Just thinking. 

* * *

The doctor, psychologist, shrink, whatever stares at Peter with bland eyes and Peter stares back unimpressed. Isn’t he supposed to be helping Peter? That’s what May said, didn’t she?  _ Why is he just looking at me like that? _

 

The clock keeps ticking. 

 

“What?” Peter finally spits out, after five minutes of silence, still trying to remain polite but losing his temper slightly. “Aren’t you supposed to talk to me?”

 

“ _ There _ it is,” the man finally speaks, “I knew you had passion in there somewhere. Now, we can begin.” He gives a little laugh and starts popping his knuckles.

 

Peter gives him a strange look, like “What the fuck, you weirdo” but decides to humor him with a gesture to continue. Of course May had to find the strangest fucking guy for Peter to ‘open up to’, as if that’s gonna happen. 

 

“I am Dr. Shawn, but you can just call me Shawn if you’d like. What would you like me to call you today? Or any of the days we meet? Any changing preferences?” 

 

“Peter is fine…” Peter says, while giving the older guy another weird look that Shawn doesn’t seem to notice at all. If he does notice, he gives no indication and continues on with a carefree and relaxed tone, and now Peter has no idea what he’s playing at but it’s getting on his nerves.

 

Dr. Shawn starts up with another probably odd question but before he can finish the first word Peter cuts in with, “So what are you trying to do here? Are you just being weird so you can be relatable or something? I don’t know what your ploy is here but it’s not going to work.” He huffs and crosses his arms, staring away from the weird guy, unhappy in the room he doesn’t want to be in but couldn’t muster up enough feeling to protest going to. 

 

He wants to be back in his room, god this is exhausting. 

 

“There’s no ‘ploy’ here, Peter,” Dr.Shawn easily puts out, with heavy emphasis and even air quotes on the word ‘ploy’. “We are just getting to know each other right now. I am being my normal self and I hope that with time, you can be comfortable enough to be your normal self around me too.”

 

Peter rolls his eyes, _ as if he’d ever trust this random man _ , but says no more.

* * *

 

The following hour is one of the strangest things Peter’s been subject to in a long time. And he’s fought a guy in a bird suit, for Pete’s (hah) sake! Dr. Shawn stretches, walks around because “My foot fell asleep haha”, doodles on papers, and makes conversation with Peter about absolutely nothing relating to whatever life struggles he’s currently having. As if his favorite food really matters right now. This is what May is paying for? Really? 

 

And at the end of their hour and a half, Dr. Shawn stands up, tells Peter that he’ll try to watch Peter’s favorite Netflix show over the weekend, and sends him out to May. 

 

Before he gets in the car, he sees May speak once with Dr. Shawn, and hears the man say _ , He has interests, he hasn’t lost connections to the world, there’s just something else there, something causing this, and we can figure it out over time. He’s not lost. _

 

Dr. Shawn says something else but Peter can’t hear it because he’s closing the car door. It shouldn’t matter, that the man is already drawing conclusions into Peter’s life, but for some reason it makes him feel funny, like he’s exposed. He’s not lost? But what about the empty feeling? Is this how it’s supposed to be?

 

He’s silent on the car ride home, only answering May with a “Yeah it was fine”, yet that exhausted feeling in his bones feels less overwhelming. 

 

Is something changing? 

 

No, it’s probably just his imagination. It’s not like the harsh realities of the world have suddenly changed. It’s all still the same. He didn’t like the experience, right? It didn’t help at all!

 

Despite this, Peter feels himself start to hum a soft song in his room that night, as he puts on his spider-suit, and wonders. 

**Author's Note:**

> title comes from AJR's song called Karma. it's awesome! give it a listen. hope u enjoyed, leave some kudos or even a review! love u


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